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Show 170 UNCLE TO:\I'S CADI~ : 0 n, me out. I 1crwo early to-morrow morning, before daylight; by to-morrow night I hope to sleep safe in Ohio. I shall tr.,·cl by daylight, stop at tho best hotels, go to the dinnertables with tho lords of the land. So, good-by, sir ; if you llCar that I 'm taken, you mn.y know that I 'm dead! " George stood up like a rock, and put out his hand with the air of a prince. ~'he friendly little old man shook it heartily, and after a little shower of caution, he took his umbrella, and fumbled his way out of the room. George stood thoughtfully looking at the door, as the old man closed it. A thought seemed to flash across his mind. Tic hastily stepped to it, and opening it, said, " l\fr. 'Vilson, one word more." The old gentleman entered again, and George, as before, locked the door, and then stood for a few moments looking on the floor, irresolutely. At last, raising his l1ead with a sudden effort- " Mr. Wilson, you have shown yourself a Christian in your treatment of me,-I want to ask ono last deed of Christian kindness of you." " Well, George." " 'Vcll, sir,- what you said was true. I mn running a dreadful risk. There isn't, on earth, a. living soul to care if I die," he added, drawing his breath hard, and speaking with a great cflort,-" I shall be kicked out and buried like o do• and nobody 'll think of it a day after,- only my poor wife0 ; Poor soul! she 'II mourn and grieve ; and if you'd only contrive, Mr. Wilson, to send this little pin to her. She gave it to me for a Christmas present, poor child ! Give it to her, and tell her I loved her to the last. Will you? Will you?" ho added, earnestly. "yes, cprtainly- poor fellow!" said the old gentleman, LIFE AMOii'G TilE LOWLY. 171 taking the pin, with watery eyes, and a melancholy quiver in his voice. "'£ell her one thing,n saitl George; "it 15 my last wish, if she can get to Canada, to go there. No matter how kind her mistress is,- no matter how much she loves her home; beg her not to go back,- for slavery always ends in misery. 'roll her to bring up our boy a. free man, and then he won't suftCr as I have. 'fell her this, ~fr. ' Vilson, will you 1" "Yes, George, I 'll tell her; but I trust you won't die; take heart,-- you 'rc a. brave fellow. Trust in the Lord, Grorgc. I wish in my heart you were safe through, though, -that's what I do." " Is there a God to trust in? " said George, in such a. tone of bitter despair as arrested the old gentleman's words. "0, I 've seen things all my life that have made me feel that there can't be a God. You Christians don't know how these things look to us. There's a God for you, but is there any for us 1" ' 1 0, now, don't-don't, my boy!" said the old man, almost sobbing as he spoke ; " don't fool so ! 'rhcrc is -there is; clouds and darkness arc around about him, but righteousness and judgment arc the habitation of his throne. There's a. God, George,- believe it ; trust in Him, and I 'm sure He 'II help you. Everything will be set right,- if not in this life, in another.'' The real piety and benevolence of the simple old mon invested him with a temperary dignity and authority, as he spoke. George stopped his distracted walk up and down the room, stood thoughtfully a moment, and then said, quietly, " ~'hank you for saying that, my good friend; I 'II tltink oft/tat." |